


Spark

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Series: A/B/O Trash [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha!Rumlow, M/M, Omega!Winter Soldier, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, dubcon, garbage fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pierce stops beside an unmarked metal door. “The Soldier is in heat. It would seem the Russians neglected to mention that possibility, but I for one plan to take full advantage of it. You’ve handled the Soldier before. Now you’re going to mate him.” (Prequel to 'Burn')</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark

**Author's Note:**

> You mean to tell me no one wanted more trashy Bucky/Rumlow smut? oH WELL.
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, this is a prequel to 'Burn' (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1685252) detailing how Rumlow and the Soldier ended up mated.
> 
> Everything is trashy, and my conscience is dead.

_The asset has been benched._

That’s the first thing Rumlow hears when they make it back to base. And the second. And the third. No one seems willing - or able - to say anything more definite, but the whispers are everywhere and Rumlow figures it’s for good reason. Taking the asset out of play should be unheard of; Rumlow has seen him take a grenade blast at short range, get stabbed and shot multiple times, and then keep going with no indication he even knows he’s been injured.

Before he can get to the bottom of that particular rumor mill though, Alexander Pierce himself is pulling Rumlow aside.

“I have an assignment for you,” He says, motioning for them to keep walking, away from any curious ears. Rumlow schools his face into impassivity and follows. He hasn’t even been back for fifteen minutes - and would really appreciate a hot shower right about now - but if Pierce has a job for him, Rumlow knows better than to disappoint. “As always, discretion is a must.”

“Of course,” Rumlow agrees, wondering what the fuck they could possibly want him for. He hasn’t even had a chance to ditch the kevlar body armor from his last op, and the bruises he’s starting to feel in earnest are probably only half of it.

“This is not the kind of _privilege_ ,” The corners of Pierce’s mouth quirk up when he says the word, as if he’s sharing some private joke, “I’d allow to just anyone, Rumlow. Do keep that in mind.” He pauses again, bending down to swipe an ID card and let them into another hallway.

Rumlow has never been in this part of the building before, but he follows Pierce through and wonders if he should care that his boots are trailing clumps of dirt on the otherwise immaculate floor.

“Where was I? Oh, yes - the Winter Soldier has been out of cryofreeze long enough for certain… complications to manifest, and I am not prepared to put him back down just yet. That’s where you come in.”

Not only is he going to find out what the hell is up with the Soldier before everyone else, but he’ll be involved? Pierce has his full attention now. “Complications, sir?”

Pierce stops beside an unmarked metal door. “The Soldier is in heat. It would seem the Russians neglected to mention that possibility, but I for one plan to take full advantage of it. You’ve handled the Soldier before. Now you’re going to mate him.”

“Mate him.” Rumlow repeats dumly.

“Must I be graphic?” Pierce asks, gesturing for Rumlow to lead them into a dark room just past the door, populated by a few other older men in suits. He doesn’t recognize any of them. “Rape him, treat him like a lover - he won’t remember it and I don’t care so long as the bond holds. Are you capable of that, Rumlow?”

He swallows thickly and nods, glancing around. The third wall is a one-way mirror, which almost all of the men have to look away from in order to greet them. Well, to greet Pierce anyway. No one even really looks at him save for a quick glance here and there, so Rumlow ignores them for the moment and walks right up to the glass. This shouldn’t be a hard one to take for the team and no doubt earn a pretty promotion - if they’re going to bond the Soldier, they’re going to want to keep his alpha close - but something about the whole thing makes him uneasy.

(Bonds go both ways, don’t they?)

The famed Winter Soldier is curled in on himself on the other side of the glass, and he looks pitiful. Rumlow wonders how long they let him suffer before hatching this particular plan, because he's never seen an omega so out of it. The poor bastard. He glances back at the men, all standing around talking to each other, utterly unconcerned with the both of them, and Rumlow hates them a bit. He’s no better than the Soldier to them - just another asset to be used when and where they decide.

As if Pierce has a sixth sense for when too much independant thought is taking place, he glances up and motions for Rumlow to come join them. Rumlow can’t help but feel like he’s a dog on a leash in this scenario, but he knows better than to do anything other than comply.

“Smith will take you around to the confinement room.” He says, pointing out one of the darker skinned men with a set of keys on his belt. They look out of place dangling from the expensive leather, and the guy more closely favors some corporate CEO rather than a jailer, but that’s not his place to question.

“I take it you’ll all be watching from here?” Rumlow asks. He’s not worried about being able to perform in front of an audience, but this stuffy group of men in suits hiding behind a tinted mirror isn’t exactly his ideal group of onlookers. If they’re staying to watch, this is a test.

“Is that a problem?” Pierce’s tone dares him to say it is.

Rumlow doesn’t protest. “No, sir,"

A test it is then.

 

The Soldier’s head shoots up as soon as Smith lets him into the room, and Rumlow tries not to grimace at the overpowering stench of heat and pain that hits him like a brick wall. He looks even worse than Rumlow thought standing in the observation room - panting roughly, his hair stringy and plastered to his head with sweat, face paler than a sheet. He whimpers, curls over himself even further and tracks Rumlow with his eyes like a caged animal. Oh joy.

“You’re in heat.” Rumlow tells him, taking the advantage to finally relieve himself of the heavy armor. He drops the pieces beside him as he peels them off. If the Soldier attacks him, he’s fucked, but the vest is digging into his shoulders and he’s too tired to give a shit enough to want to keep it on. “Did anyone tell you that?”

The Soldier shakes his head jerkily, eyes widening and focusing just a bit more now that someone’s giving him answers to the questions Rumlow doubts he even knows how to think, let alone ask

He’s hard from the scent alone, but Rumlow wishes his soon to be omega wasn’t so fucked up. No one in their right mind would take a mess like this for a mate.

“Come here,” He orders, pointing to the ground at his feet. The Soldier does as he’s told, but then again, the Soldier always does as he’s told. He rises and crosses the room quickly, only to sit himself back down at Rumlow’s feet, still pitiful and hunched in on himself. Rumlow shakes his head and divests himself of the last of his armor - the Soldier flinches when it hits the ground beside him.

He crouches and grabs the Soldier by his chin, forcing his head up. His skin is paradoxically both burning up and cold to the touch, a result of his rapidly cooling sweat. The Soldier is drenched in it. He’s shivering too, Rumlow notices now that he’s so close. “It’s only going to feel better if you do everything I tell you to.” He says, not knowing when he started feeling responsible for… whatever this is, and not liking it either.

The Soldier stares back at him, all dead-eyed as usual, and Rumlow would slap him across the face if he thought that might get a reaction. “Get your clothes off. I’m going to fuck you.”

Even his metal fingers are shaking as the Soldier struggles to free himself from his wet clothing, tearing the neck of his shirt in his haste - just a simple tee shirt, as if they were planning on freezing him after all. Maybe it would have been a better alternative. The bright fluorescent lighting does him no favors, highlighting the fever-sweat and sickly pale cast to his skin further. Leaving an omega like this should be shameful.

“You need it, don’t you?” Rumlow runs a hand down the Soldier’s side, wiping off some of the sweat. He’s gross enough from the op before this that he doesn’t care - and it feels like every hormone he has is telling him this is how it should be, interpreting every sign of need - or gross neglect in this case - as pure sensory pornography.

The Soldier looks relieved, if that’s possible, nodding his head again and sniffing the air. Rumlow wonders if he knows enough to recognize an alpha, or if the Soldier is making no more sense of Rumlow’s building scent than he did of his own heat. His cock is hard and flushed though, tucked between his thighs, and it gets Rumlow’s mouth watering.

“Please,” The Soldier’s voice sounds broken - desperation twined with disuse - and as unexpected as it is, Rumlow likes it a lot more than he ever could have imagined. He wants to see if the Soldier will beg him further, but - later, when he can have the Soldier alone. When his pretty words are for Rumlow only.

“Yeah, yeah,” He agrees, “On your hands and knees.”

By omega standards the Soldier is a mess, but Rumlow isn’t finding it hard to desire him for his own sake. The heat is strong, he’s utterly pliant, and that body… But whether or not the mush Pierce has turned his brain into will hold a bond, Rumlow’s fucked if he knows. Best to make himself memorable.

He grabs the Soldier’s hips and drags him closer, back along the floor until Rumlow can lean forward and lick a long stripe up his spine. He bites down on the back of the Soldier’s neck and licks the salt from his skin. “You’re mine,” Rumlow growls, “You got that?” He bites down even harder before the Soldier can open his mouth, a pained grunt replacing anything he might have said in response.

The Soldier shoves his hips back, grinding his ass against the hard line of Rumlow’s cock, and for each motion Rumlow lets his teeth dig in deeper.

It’s not until he’s tasting blood - copper and salt mingling, a stinging sensation against his tongue - that the Soldier starts whining, twisting his head to try and get away.

Rumlow holds him for another minute before sitting back to admire his handiwork: an angry red imprint of his teeth across the back of the asset’s neck, the skin broken and swollen at two points where it crosses with his vertebrae. “Mine.” He says again, determined to make it stick. It’ll take weeks for that to fade.

“Yours,” The asset repeats, uncontesting. He sounds dazed - the pain dropping him to somewhere even more primal. Exactly where Rumlow wants him.

The whole front of his pants is soaking wet with the slick dripping from the Soldier’s ass. Rumlow yanks his belt apart and shoves them down to his knees. He doesn’t think his dick’s been harder in his life, but he gives it a few strokes anyway, mentally preparing himself. The Soldier keens for him with every slick slide of skin, the head of Rumlow’s cock brushing up and down the crack of his ass with each motion of his hand. “Who do you belong to?”

The Soldier doesn’t hesitate. “Yours,” he moans again - not Pierce’s, not HYRDA’s; Rumlow sure as hell knows the difference, and oh, they might just come to regret this - and Rumlow pushes forward, lining himself up and snapping his hips forward to bury himself in the Soldier with one harsh thrust.

He’s too wet to be overwhelmingly tight, but his insides grip Rumlow’s cock with every thrust.

Rumlow keeps their audience in mind and fucks him thoroughly, making sure to put on a good show. He keeps time with his own breaths, pulling out almost all the way in between thrusts, grinding his hips against the Soldier’s each time he slides in balls-deep again. His fingers dig into the asset’s hipbones where Rumlow’s holding him in place, and as soon as he thinks of it he grips harder, aiming to leave bruises behind.

The Soldier is panting, head down, giving himself over without restraint. He’s not fighting - barely even holding himself up. When Rumlow slaps him on the ass without warning - hard enough to leave a handprint blooming against his pale skin - he overbalances and crashes down onto his forearms. It gives Rumlow an even better angle. “That’s it,” He coos, “Good boy.”

The asset seems to like that, his body clenching even tighter. Rumlow sucks a breath in through his teeth. His cock is starting to swell, the knot wanting to form. He pushes it back for as long as possible, clenching the muscles in his abdomen and slowing his movements. There’s no need to draw this out, but oh, does Rumlow want to.

The Soldier’s ass feels even tighter around his cock, his muscles rippling around Rumlow’s length as he tries to adjust to the sensation. Rumlow rakes his fingernails up his thigh before grabbing the Soldier’s hip again even more tightly than before. He sits back on his heels and yanks the Soldier along with him, quick, sharp thrusts of his hips bouncing the Soldier up and down on his lap before he’s coming hard, biting down on the Soldier’s neck yet again.

_Mine._

Rumlow recovers fast and holds the Soldier in place as he squirms, clenching his jaw and pressing his nails into the Soldier’s skin in silent warning. He clearly doesn’t know what to do about Rumlow’s knot, whimpering pathetically when shifting his hips only forces it deeper. The noises he’s making send eager chills up and down Rumlow’s spine - he could come from that alone if he hadn’t just a moment before.

“Behave,” he growls, and if a bit of fondness colors his tone, that’s his business.

The Soldier settles unwillingly, a whine at the back of his throat. His thighs are still corded tight, the muscles straining atop Rumlow’s, but he allows himself to be pulled against Rumlow’s chest, overtaxed body surprisingly pliant. “You are mine.” Rumlow repeats again, breathing directly against the shell of his ear. He’s not sure if the Soldier is trembling from the tease, or still the pain of his knot, but it doesn’t matter either way. “And don't you forget it.”


End file.
